The Next Eternity Over
by TurquoiseTime
Summary: Love is time spent understanding. Anger is a common feeling amidst the forgotten and unloved Pokémon of 'The Next Eternity Over', but in families made with gentler hands, there might be something still left of them. Brooke knows her rescues aren't perfect, but she finds joy in convincing them otherwise. As life becomes harder, so does the job of repairing her heartbroken friends.


I haven't been great.

There isn't some line waiting for me from here to the shop like with others. The cuter ones get them often. The best of them get auctions thrown nearer Town Hall. The kids look all excited when a new guy comes around. Poor Char's get hounded like nothing else. Even the shy ones start feeling the need to earn that attention after a short while of waiting. We are each other's competition. And every child we see is another set of eyes moving in broad sweeps past me, past them, to the stars of the show, the ones that come and go in hours. They're nice and all, sure. Nothing wrong with being popular. I don't know. I've just been here a long time.

I remember the sky at its brightest. And Kelsey kept her hand on my back for comfort. She leaned on the tree, on the cliff, still in view of her home just down a little ways further.

I remember grass, like smaller forests for my paws to trample through. Sometimes taller, to a point that others would hide inside, for shelter, for privacy, for the sake of it.

I remember seas, and the little journeys others would take across and around them, swimming to the line, or flying to the clouds, or just floating around like I would do had we ever gone. I saw them all through car and train windows, balancing on the hind two legs of Kelsey's lap, her sometimes hauling me back down out of it.

I shouldn't be so nervous all the time. They keep saying it too, hands tapping the glass, noses pressing to get closer.

"I won't hurt you!"

But I would. Had the harder knocks broke through, had the stampede of shoes and ankles and knees came running, had they put their arms around me and lifted me to the air, to their chests, to their faces… I would. I know the cost of trust. And shoes, ankles, knees, arms, chests, faces, they face or rise above me, and only ever to hurt. Love was a part of me to lose.

And I deserved it. Every single time, I deserved what I got, and I deserve what I was given. I didn't think like that at the time though. I thought that no one deserves to feel this way. And maybe I still feel that way sometimes.

The bright lights for display keep my eyes to the lower half of the glass, the little bump for which tinier children would peak over to look. It might be a slower day today, not nearly the crowd's worth of trainers looking to bet, but there is still a highlight to the visit. Calls himself Croc, though he's not on that level just yet. His first day was yesterday, and he knew people would come to see him. He looks more like a performer than a fighter, that arrogance coming more from appearance than anything. He isn't bad though. I like him. Talks to me about his old trainer, Aaron, and some bigger events I never got to see. He likes to build himself up, but he gets excited when I say something about myself. I told him about some bad fights and stupid stunts, the only things I could think of that compared to his stories.

He asks if that was how I got the mark.

"What do you mean?"

He points to my back.

"I don't know." I tell him. I can't get a good look at it. I do know how I got it; I just didn't want to tell him. I didn't know it even left a mark.

Four hours until we shut down for the night. Croc still has visitors, but no real bidders yet. No one else gets much of anything. Weedle gets a few laughs. Bidoof is as sound asleep as ever. And Yungoos isn't fully resigned to the loneliness just yet. Croc and I keep each other company, but I let him have sole spotlight when my own presence seems more like a distraction. He loves doing tricks and other funny things. The kids like him a lot. The trainers are off-and-on in interest.

Three hours to go. I show Croc how to see the clock on the other side of the room. It's hard to see with the lights, but if I cusp my paw and crouch down to the lower left corner, it's easier to see. I don't think he can read the clocks. Maybe he doesn't like admitting to those things. He seems smarter than he acts.

It really is like another spotlight for him.

Two hours left. The kids are mostly gone. The trainers aren't as interested in his show, or his supporting cast. He keeps looking to me all baffled, but in a funny, shrug-it-off kind of way. They don't really get him like the kids do. The music from the corner speakers outside the glass finally comes through to our end, meaning there isn't many other sounds drowning it out.

There isn't anyone left to perform for by the one-hour point. A few staff members, maybe. They all look at us with annoyance. Croc calms down a bit. He starts rationalizing everything to himself. "Prime Totodiles aren't a common sight around here," he says, self-assured, arms folded. "People need to warm up to the idea."

I don't know what to tell him.

"Maybe tomorrow." I say.

He gets quiet after that. I think by then, he knows. He knows he wasn't good enough today. And I know he's thinking of Aaron, as if he figured it out before Croc did. But he did, just now. It hurts. It really hurts.

Time runs out for those not taken. They capture us again, and sort us into rows of secluded Poké Balls for another night. Maybe the other displays did better this time around. Maybe there was some other superstar personality I didn't know about that took the attention away from us. Or maybe Kelsey was right.

I miss the sea sometimes.


End file.
